Consequences of an Untutored Mind
by DanielTheWaterTankAndTheFoetus
Summary: Jean Valjean did not know the meaning of a word, but he never thought such a small matter could have dire consequences. Seriously written crackfic.


_**Consequences of an Untutored Mind**_

_By Janine (see profile – especially if you want to know why this fic is about a certain six-letter word beginning with 'f')_

Jean Valjean had once been a tree-pruner in Faverolles. He had been and still was a good man with a good heart, but nothing could ever remedy that lamentable peasant ignorance which had come about as a result of low status and poor upbringing. No one was to blame for that. No one and everyone.

As we know, Monsieur Madeleine had never walked the streets of Montreuil-sur-mer without a book under his arm – a good habit, perhaps even an erudite one. But could those peaceful days fill in all the gaps in his knowledge? Could the heavy volumes replace the shears, the former smoothing out the jagged cuts of the latter and regrowing the severed branches? Evidently not. For even with all his wide reading, there was a word which he happened to come across only once in his entire life – as he sat reading beside a field of wheat one morning, overlooking the workers. Not having a dictionary at hand that particular day, he asked of a gentleman passing by, "Forgive me, monsieur, but do you happen to know the meaning of 'foetus'?"

The gentleman was most surprised. The man standing gravely before him, a respected magistrate, inquiring about the definition of a word! "Why, Monsieur le maire," said the gentleman, "that's easy enough to explain. A foetus is simply a baby –"

But he could not finish his sentence. What happened that hindered his speech we shall not disclose, for it is an occurrence totally unnecessary to the progression of this tale. The importance of this short exchange lay in the fact that Monsieur Madeleine did not hear the accurate definition of 'foetus'. He made a mental note to look it up when he returned to his office, but destiny arranged it so that the Champmathieu affair suddenly manifested itself on that very afternoon. This event had a profound effect on his state of mind, as already stated, so Madeleine, now revealed as Jean Valjean, simply forgot about the trivial problem of being unaware of the meaning of a word – and the word itself was pushed inexorably to the back of his mind.

This distant memory, however, never left his mind entirely, and was seen to resurface at moments of desperation or extreme bewilderment. For instance, when Valjean was captured on the road to Montfermeil, he was allegedly heard muttering under his breath, while restraints were being clamped around his wrists, "I simply must go on . . . I swore I would protect Fantine's foetus . . ." These words, which could have been taken as a result of a felon losing his sanity from years of suffering, did not sidestep the sharp ears of Inspector Javert. He thought Valjean had had an affair with Fantine, a woman twenty five years younger than him, and so was a worse hypocrite than he had ever imagined.

Thus do the misunderstandings of the world build up, forcing irrational hatred into the minds of men. From that moment onwards Javert resolved to recapture Valjean at all costs. When he read the article in the newspaper reporting Valjean's death he could not believe it, and when he discovered otherwise he rejoiced. But that fateful meeting at the barricade, followed by the encounter beside the river, shattered all his beliefs and ideologies. He could not forgive himself; nor could he forgive the man who had spared his life. The man who had supposedly 'saved' a woman and then had an affair with her!

The rest of the details we know.

But that was not the end of the matter. As Valjean himself sat dying in his house in the Rue de l'Homme-Armé with Cosette and Marius at his feet, he spoke of many things with such celerity that one would imagine he had not spoken for a century – and near the end, the very end, when his voice had become nothing more than a tranquil whisper, his mouth formed the words, "O Cosette . . . what a fool I am. I still think of you as a little foetus." Cosette, having the unfortunate faculty of good hearing, leant close to him and heard exactly what he said. It must be confessed that the poor girl, the very embodiment of innocence, knew no more about foetuses than her father. For weeks she pondered and grieved, and soon became frustrated.

"Marius," she said to her husband one evening, "I have a question." She sat knitting in a couch beside the fire, opposite Marius, who had his head in a book and who seemed quite deep in thought. When Cosette spoke, however, the stark change in her voice from her usual light, teasing tone caused him to look up.

"What is it, darling?"

"Well, it's rather silly, and I've no idea how to say it nicely, so I might as well be blatant. What exactly is a 'foetus'?"

"What?" Marius spluttered.

"You heard me. You do know, don't you? Well?"

"Really, Cosette, this isn't the time for such revelations."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Well, it's rather . . . difficult to explain . . ."

And so forth. It need not be said that the conversation soon turned into an argument.

So Jean Valjean, a man who had atoned for his sins and done so much good in his lifetime, inadvertently killed a policeman and brought about the unhappiness of a newly wedded couple, simply for the reason that he did not know the meaning of a single word.


End file.
